Orange Epiphany
by ThisIsHowItAllEnds
Summary: Piper's mind process in prison walls and her warming up to Alex. Rated T for coarse language. I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

The wounds bled like they ever were remaining fresh after all these years of grieving and reassuring she did the right thing. The sourness never really disappeared labeled with orange tag stating expiration date is nowhere to be found. Piper learned all that in very short period of time after passing especially humiliating stripping process when the clock of her serving time got reset to zero. Eighteen months to go to survive like a stray dog thrown in a fight cage.

To be honest, Piper was relieved she ended up not that alone in this boot camp for criminals, after all. The feelings were still pretty mixed up and messy where she discovered she could not even look at Alex for all this bitterness brunette caused her to the point she actually got halfway confident there's no limits for Piper's loathing. The messy part is the part that was kinda screwing everything over for Piper in her plotting revenge. And it happened to be an impressively immense chunk as well that was stopping her from desiring greater vengeance.

Against all the odds Piper couldn't shake off the long gone emotions for the reason they weren't anywhere close to be gone. Sometimes she busied herself with stealthily chancing eyes at her ex lover and going mad in her head for having no other thoughts than admiration and fondness – something Vause never deserved for all this shit she dragged Piper into. It must be all these years she hadn't seen Alex that made her that batshit crazy because, let's be honest, Piper is the one held accountable for creating that image that's now nearly impossible to delete from terabytes of her memory.

As for the moment, her psychological issues were nowhere near to be resolved, so is weakness when it came to raven head drug smuggler. Piper couldn't fight it even when she tried so hard she sometimes felt her own ears are about to bleed.

"Hey, Pipes."

Speaking of ears. That husky low voice reappears somewhere to her left and Piper growls a little bit on the inside, shoving all those stupid emotions somewhere deep down, so no light could touch and reveal her dark secret.

"Please go, I'm really not in the mood to go to max for assassinating another inmate right now." Piper spits out hearing her head throb.

"I wanna smack you and kiss you and fuck you and kill you after that." Her real self lured to shout out instead, so she had to work extra hard not to give her real thoughts away.

Alex disappears as quietly as she appeared and it's… just doesn't make Piper feel any better. Everything she could think of is Vause's scent still lingering behind with no owner in sight, her bare skin imprinted with ridiculous assemble of random ink visages, and that sexy raspy voice she wants to shut up with especially deep and unexpected kiss.

This all sounds crazy in Piper's head – well, because it's kind of is. And she wants nothing more but drag this infatuation of hers into bathroom stall and fuck senseless.

She left Alex in the first place. And then, drunk dialed her sitting on the floor in the lone company of toilet and crispy white which is a totally surreal scenario even for her taken they haven't spoken in like… 10 years?

It takes her 10 full minutes to get to the room stumbling upon every single wall and object unintentionally entertaining her inmates. When she is finally in, no one really pays her any mind letting her get up on her berth and silently wish she was dead.

Piper was the one to call her on the cellphone and, of course, Alex knows it as well as Piper does unless she had drowned her phone in the ocean before listening to Chapman's drunk monologue on the other end. Back then, Piper remained oblivious to the nearest future of wearing inmate's clothes to the grandeur of Vause's scumbag gist. A freaking echo of hello from the past. So, that left her also oblivious to the fact she neared the destiny to see Alex again as she experienced the coldness of tiles on her ass.

She craved seeing her, there was no other explanation for her late night extemporization which was clear to anyone with brain. Except, it was all just beautiful mirage in her head. Till now. The funny part is when Piper was pouring her soul out into senseless electronic device, Alex was busy with ratting her ex-girlfriend out. Or maybe she did it long ago, that's why she didn't pick up the phone on the first place?

And the ugliest of truths is that Piper happened to be extremely infuriated with the whole concept of being left looking like a love sick idiot and Alex getting back at her in the cruelest way possible.

It doesn't cancel out the fact she still has it bad for Vause. For that dirty bitch naming her upon a single mistake of carrying drug money at HER request. It's scary to imagine what would have happened if Piper did more than that. She'd probably rot here for the eternity which, once again, proved she made a right decision biding her adieu that day.

* * *

She does her best next few days avoiding her formal girlfriend, even though it's quite challenging taking they all are in locked relatively small space. She tries regardless. More out of shame - she doesn't want Alex to savor her triumph at Piper's expense. This smug smirk of hers is one main reason Chapman is eager to punch her in the face and take some of the teeth out along the way.

Larry visits her quite regularly, thanks God. She doesn't know how she would survive here without him. The bright side of extremely horrible situation, she can't focus on her feelings any longer constantly dreaming of food after the cafeteria incident. Sometimes, in the foggy state of dizziness, laying still in her bunk, she counts to ten to get rid of juicy pictures of burgers and steak. This is when _her_ face pops up, those pale semi-full lips part out and she hears low timbre of edgy voice whispering shit she doesn't want her head to speculate with. But, when you give it a second thought, it's still better than food images. Although, similarly reeks of a great force of desperation.

Quizzing her brain endlessly figuring out the ways winning Red over, Piper feels she slowly dies trying to keep her gaze from wondering and actually "looking" versus passing out.

Nichols was nice enough to mention she wouldn't give Chapman any share of her commissary for her own safety and Piper appreciated the acknowledgement for her starting to feel invisible. Red and her back problems was one – and more she thought of it, more it became obvious – and the only loophole she could use to save herself.

She is sat at the table of the stupid diner she's not allowed to eat at, scheming her way out of the disaster she got herself into, periodically swallowing saliva and forcing herself to sit straight when a wrapped muffin appears.

She first blinks, thinking she's hallucinating, staring at the piece of provision like at the great treasure not knowing whether she has to thank Gods for Red suddenly crushing her mercy on her or rush into the councilor office beg for a prescription.

It takes her another second to unglue her crazy stare from said muffin and slowly drag it forward where few tables away Alex encircles Yoga Jones and plops down the chair somewhere in the further corner.

Self-righteousness burns Piper's throat instantly as she realizes whose doing is this. And as much as she wants nothing more but sink her teeth in partly soft pastry, she stands up, almost falling but still managing to keep her self-dignity intact, and dumps it in the trash. Fuck Alex and her fucking pity! She can go and toss herself in the garbage following Piper's example with her act of "kindness". She is done thinking of Vause or play victim in kitchen turning against her. It is time to do something about it and preferably fast if she ever plans on leaving Litchfield's premises alive.

* * *

Cayenne pepper is burning her throat greater than tears of humiliation and new curling iron she clumsily brushed over an earlobe back in Big Land. Hairdos never were her forte as freshly embedded marks reminded her of every attempt she made. With time, she learned to use potato peel and "Mederma" just to wait other month or two until new special occasion came around.

"How fucking awesome I'm thinking about luxury of using curling iron whilst grinding something that feels like a whole Khaleesi offspring with my own teeth just to rub in old Russian lady's arthritic spine for Borsch." I thought, hot tears rolling down my chin.

How on Earth did I make fool of myself the first day I got into orange robes? It's either my stupidity or big mouth, probably both, and I really should learn how to shut the fuck up.

I took my time to remember interaction with my soon-husband-to-be inhaling deeply. I still am oblivious to fact why I asked something I already knew my answer to. Probably, I just wanted to be sure before investing any more hatred in her. Heavens see, I'm so emotionally drained of being constantly mad, I wanna kill myself.

…And this fucking cayenne pepper tearing me apart like a bunch of five graders some bullshit CVS piñata.

* * *

I woke up at a crack of dawn as it usually happens in prison, and for the first time in what it seems like forever, didn't feel the urge to smash crap against the walls or commit a suicide. The feeling was fresh but short as I locked my eyes with my new bunkie Ms. Claudette and the urge returned in no time. In any case, walking up to sinks, I felt like a serious toughened criminal who fought and won her place under the cafeteria lamp through her own sweat and skill.

Piper Elizabeth Chapman. The real gangsta with an "a" at the end. Or "ER" for it got pretty close to be transferred to a different sort of public facility.

Waiting in line with a particularly weird happy face for standing in fungus infected bathroom, I suddenly made out Alex's frame occurring few heads ahead, and my smile fell.

She stood tall, indigo black silk hair falling in long tempting cascade down on her broad back. I doubt she saw me yet exchanging jokes with Big Boo – our very own prison dyke as harmful as Chihuahua on the leash.

I roll my eyes and try fully abandon myself to the memories of my very recent victory. The moment of Lorna bringing me tray was worth all the struggle. Ya, super-duper Chapman got through the full circle of hardcore gulag initiation, this story deserves to become new legend passing from old prisoners to newcomers… Ok, tune your fake laughter down, Alex, nobody cares of you sympathizing Hulk type of pussy now. Especially me. I don't give a damn who you end up cover your ass with to feel protected.

Line moves excruciatingly slow and I find myself more and more irritated by the whole interaction happening before my very eyes.

"He is not eggplant, he is retarded!" Boo shouts out and I can't help but squeeze a long irritated sigh of disbelief how Alex loud in her extremely annoying raspy laughter.

Seriously? What's next? A nice leap from vegetables to porn dogs and hot sauce? Oops, I did just say "porn dogs", did I? How wise smart of me. I'm a creative soul.

Alex throws her head back in laughter and briefly looks over the shoulder catching my displeased stare. I'm sure I look no better than that nasty nut hoarder of a squirrel with twitching simmering beneath my left eye.

It seems she actually _did_ see me now for the first time which makes it much goddamn worse. I'd really like to think this whole show was thrown for my special audience.

As it appears, Vause really digs her path from lipstick blue – eyed lesbian beauty to something that I'm almost convinced has bigger dick than Burset and annual pass to Dodgers Stadium.

For a slight second we look at each other, her smile is still visible from the joke Boo delivered, and I notice my fingers involuntarily coil in fist. I try to keep my killer glare in place to portray all the disdain and hatred towards the ex lover and her sole existence, although, the mission is quite impossible as nervous tick has never gone, and, by all means, I know I resemble a psycho blonde at most, missing only high heels and 10 inch nails bedazzled with Swarovski prepared to fight.

Her smile slowly vanishes, she tries to nod her greetings but I solely ignore her endeavors, remaining still as rock. Psycho rock.

"Hey, Piper." She doesn't give up making sure to acknowledge my presence audibly.

"Hey." I unclench my jaw with a humongous effort almost chocking on my own breath. It mostly sounds like a yelp grumpy cat makes at an unfortunate soul dared to step on it's precious tail. Even I hate how my voice has turned.

"Pretty long line, huh? It's faster to get pizza delivery these days." She keeps it light and casual, dressing her impromptu with heartfelt grin.

"Ya, it's funny how life works. Just a minute ago you were a free ripe tomato proudly growing in the garden, and another – your intestines smashed and placed in the oven for enjoyment of others. Quick and senseless." I respond concentrating on keeping my voice as flat as possible.

Alex's features turn heartbroken at my angry remark and I sense a ping of pain. I always hated to be the reason for her sadness, she looked too vulnerable and innocent these moments which always got me.

"I'm sure tomatoes don't mind choosing between humans consumption and gone rotten in named garden." She somehow chuckles with her still crestfallen eyes.

That was our longest conversation in whole time since I discovered her presence in Litchfield.

At nights I found myself going back to it, retracing every moment step by step, asking silently why I am doing it over and over and over again…


	2. Chapter 2

Remember, I said my days got better to the level I'm not considering hanging myself up the fence wire? Well, turns out it was a certain understatement on my behalf.

That being said, people are FUCKING crazy. Especially ones who got incarcerated in the name of law.

Let me just briefly clue you in that being starved out doesn't seem like a biggie anymore. I think, I would like to take my words back, rewind my time in prison, and land back on the "used tampax" chapter of my life.

It's only getting worse. Really. Please do yourself a favor and never smuggle drug money even for a promise of outstanding sex with your gorgeous doe-eyed fucked up girlfriend later, or else will be suffering like I am.

I came 20 times that night, though.

Anyway, my prison name is Dandelion now. Given by my prison wife Crazy Eyes. I mean, find a thing that sounds normal in this equation. Dandelion? What I am now? Blonde African that loses all her hair after Brazilian blow out? I am a Viciouslion minimum. Fuck this shit and this relationship I unknowingly accepted by taking hot chilly pepper to stop used female hygiene products coming my way.

She's following me everywhere. She says she has FEELINGS. That's probably why she dedicated me a whole 3-lines-long poem. Something about grapes and fire I ignite in her soul like tire.

I don't know how to react to things anymore. It's like nothing actually surprises me any longer.

I mean, she _did_ throw her pie at Alex trying to mingle like naming me was just some average thing to do like shaving armpits or something. She got what she was asking for. I don't care. What I'm really anxious about is CE's hand diving in her own pants every single time she sees my stupid face.

God, I never believed in you but if you really _do_ exist and help people out, please, NOW would be a good time to do so.

I'm not even saying anything about sneaking a screwdriver out of electric shop few days ago – another epic failure on my part that almost cost me additional five years in this shit hole.

It is almost like problems shadow me everywhere I appear, ignoring the fact I'm trying very hard to be a decent inmate here.

It goes without saying, Miss Claudette doesn't appreciate my company much. To be honest, she would probably hate anyone bunked up in her precious "pride room." On my opinion, there's no real pride without rainbow carpet and Charlize Therone wall poster but it's just my own thinking.

Ask Watson – poor thing didn't last a day with this evil bitch. Even though, to be completely fair, she didn't last away from her either, being sent to SHU after I misplaced the screwdriver. She, probably, yells too much. I kinda agree with Miss Claudette on that part. I am still responsible, though.

Maybe I should offer her extra black eyed peas or hair oil once she's out. It's not like I'm being a racist. I'm just finding the least bruising products in case they are thrown back at me.

Whatever, I'm not myself. My prison wife is jerking herself off again while I'm sitting by the TV with straight face observing pandas giving birth to little hamsters they call their babies. I wish it was the same for humans. No pain, no suffer, 5 months later you have a grown version of yourself ready to work and pay it's own taxes. Hell I would get pregnant every quarter if it was the case.

Alex is present in the same room – she is sitting in the left corner all caught up in some book she brought here to read. "1000 Mysteries of Cold War." By Stan Ground. Sounds more boring than my thug life. Who would willingly read that?

I'm making it a point to stare right at her for a long minute but she still doesn't raise her head sending me the electric waves, instead. Nonetheless, I can see a small smirk forming in her lips when Suzanne's shouting out "You make my intestines twist, Dandelion!" and I go as red as tomato before storming the heck out of there. I'm sure, Alex's enjoying it. Fucking Alex.

I've heard she made Nichols her acquaintance. Knowing Nicky and her "break" with Lorna, I'm almost positive they already discussed all their similarities in every possible position by now. I'm trying not to think about it much, crossing dorms' corridors and throwing myself down on my bed, sweat's collecting on my forehead. I wonder how many times did she make former addict to come. No, why would I be interested in anything perverted like that?!

Ok, back to Miss Claudette and her face turning sour each time she lays her eyes on me. I kinda own her for not ratting me out to Pornstache in screwdriver incident. Don't want her to think of me as an ungrateful cunt. I am very grateful, indeed. And nice despite all the surrounding my figure drama. Let's just say I am as innocent as it gets. I'm practically John Lock nursing the island while everyone thinks he's gone mental. And I take my pride in it. Not the leather flag kind.

"Your mess is disturbing. I stuffed all your piles of books under the bed for I refuse to be your maid!"

"Books. Bed. Understood." I mumble, sweat is still streaming down like I spent my entire morning running tracks from Caputo chasing me down with chainsaw.

Miss Claudette's face catches a glimpse of worry for the first time I know her which is super new and creepy as hell. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know anymore." I respond honestly.

Of course I am not all right. I'm in prison charged with a federal offense, for the love of God. In the same environment with grave enemy. I mean, would it hurt her if she aged just a little bit, so she doesn't look like a breathing sex machine, at least? Would it kill her to be less appealing in this bulky khaki uniform everyone else resembles miserable worms creeping the mud wearing it? Is it too much to ask?

No, enough of Alex. I OFFICIALLY REFUSE to occupy my mind with her any longer. She doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve ME. MY attention. And my friends neither. Because, to be completely fair, I got to know Nicky first. I was her roommate upon arrival before she even appeared on the Litchfield picture. And I liked Nicky. She is fun, outgoing, funny, too… This all is surreal to see my ex-cellmate introducing herself to my psycho manipulative ex-girlfriend. It is surreal, crazy and totally impossible almost if two completely different Universes have collided into one another. Like I'm Alice sitting at the Mad Hatter's tea party and silently absorbing everyone talking gibberish. And WHY ON EARTH I'm still thinking about her?!

I cursed loudly, covering my sweaty face with my sweaty palms. I want to disappear from the face of the planet. To poof in the air like I never existed. I just can't do it anymore.

"Chapman, I think you might have a fever." Miss Claudette finally states, moving away from me.

"Good." I growl in response. "Maybe it'll kill me in my sleep."

"Oh, trust me, the end will come real fast if you give me your germs." The other woman assures covering her nose with a piece of cloth.

Lovely Miss Claudette. I think I'm gonna remember her for the rest of my life long after the release. Maybe I'll make it my habit to write her letters weekly, even. She is just… Something.

"Saw your girlfriend crying on the junkie's shoulder at the library. Maybe you should share your mess of the books to clear this room and calm her down. I could understand her feelings – it is hard to go by good literature in here." The senior lady drops flatly and it would be probably devastating how easily the words of self condensation rolling off her tongue if I cared at all.

Great, now they are crying together? I don't think I saw her crying much, and I do certainly hate this heavy feeling my stomach acquires when I hear that.

"She is not my girlfriend." I declare like a zombie. "Just a person I used to know."

"Oh please, save me the nudity and crazy triangle body paint." She retorts, all irritated. "All I'm saying is regardless sick or not, you should take care of your part of the room."

I flinched, totally ignoring her being on my case for the damn bunk again, and crinkled my nose, instead, "Triangle body paint?"

"I'm not that old, dear, and still do watch TV, occasionally." She shrugs still leaving me at the end of my wits. "The dude has a good voice and lyrics but definitely not very classy approach."

I swallowed, deciding to let my confusion go. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, really. Nothing but this throbbing sensation started in my head and slowly traveling down my chest.

"Miss Claudette, have you ever hated anyone's guts so much you wanted to reap their heart out and feed it dogs?"

"Oh yeah, dear, it happened to me once." She scoffs making herself comfortable on her bed. She placed couple of color swatches on top of it lining them together and picking which one to go with for her scarf knitting.

"And how did you deal with it? How you sublimed all this anger so it stopped eating you inside?"

Miss Claudette took a long pause, and I thought she's not gonna reply for a second. But she unstuck her stare from the swatches and made an eye contact before her jaw dropped and she hissed "I killed him."

* * *

Oh.

It explains a lot – this whole uptight thing and self-righteousness. At the end of day, It was just a matter of time before coldblooded murderer jumped out of petite Carribbean old lady's body.

The funny part is it didn't make me scared of Miss Claudette more, somehow. I practically reached the point I could not stress out over things I'm not capable of changing. Whatever I do I make everyone pissed, anyhow. I as well may make my peace with it and sort through the received letters from home. At least I still have my family and loving cute cuddly goof ball of a fiancé.

But, not to fool anyone here, it's not like I became brave all of the sudden. More self and other people observant, in fact. Sometimes I found myself wondering prison premises and seeing things I wouldn't normally notice too busy playing my role of a prisoner. I should probably thank my short sentence for that - anxiety would rarely let it's place to occupy with observation. I would walk around seeing people talking, fighting, laughing and screaming like a guest of a particularly disturbing reality TV show. Sometimes someone talks to me and I could hear my own mouth close and open, producing sounds. I could hear my own answer, thinking "That's a funny thing to say, Chapman." The experience, once again, felt surreal but weirdly enough, it helped me to stay sane. It made me remain hopeful.

While at dinner, I've noticed Alex sitting at the same table with Nicky. I used to sit there all the time before today for the very same reason. She crossed boundaries. Again. How come she manages to get in my brain every given second of time? I blamed everything on this place. It makes you go obsessed from being trapped.

I wonder how much she is here for. Probably, fuck load of time. She used to be the best Kubra's smuggler – there's no way she has a chance to get away with anything less than dozen years. Shit, that means she'll get out in her fifties. Such a waste.

The weather happened to be nice today, fallen leaves crunching underneath my heavy boots size 10 that isn't even my fit. I just took them not to agree with Alex and her smugness. Who the hell she thinks she is.

So yeah, that's how I ended up with oversized boots and hate issues for the next 14,5 months in prison. I deserve Oscar and 99% of rotten tomatoes rating.

The sky is pale, cloudless, proudly displaying semi-cold orange sun. Air is fresh, cold, windy. Feels nice to be outside. I'm lucky I didn't get locked up somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the high security facility. If me being here could be considered as such precious thing as luck at all. My thinking process is so messed up I'm surprised I still didn't get drowned in it's vomit.

There's something comforting in waking up early, I should admit. Making you feeling like a productive person. Ok-Ok, I know my productivity here nearing to zero, but, regardless, there's something magical about watching sunrise on the prison porch next to rusty pipes and cracked 3-week old oatmeal walls.

Some inmates are feeling the same connection to nature as I am, apparently. Few Spanish girls are power walking in the distance; Burset making mutual fun with the scruffy black inmate, Poussey, I think; the quiet one – Norma – damping bad produce in the trash next to me.

Peace. Calm. Alarm going off.

Shit, this is not how it supposed to go – I think lying on the ground with my hands over my head. There's somebody's spit 2 inches away from my face and ugly ass cockroach running for it's life in one of the wall's cracks. Beautiful day, indeed.

It takes at least 5 minutes for alarm to go silent. I am grateful no more, rising on my feet and seeing ugly dirt stains all over my pants. If irritation could kill, everyone in this camp for criminals would drop dead now.

Clenching my jaw and thinking of every single curse word I knew, I'm walking back into the building almost passing the commissary window, when I suddenly ran into Nicky.

This is when my jaw unclenches on it's own and I blurt out "What Alex told you?"

I'm almost not breathing from trying too hard to look indifferent. Nicky's lips touches mischievous smirk as it always does every time she thinks she sees through me.

"That you are a squirter."

This dialogue left me all mixed up in my controversy feelings. Probably, my true question was "Did you do it?" but me dreading to know the actual answer happened to be the obstacle I couldn't overcome to ask that.

What if this drug addict with the unruly hair is way passed the first base and now overwhelmed with the same spell Vause cast on me? What if she enjoyed it too much and it's not only me who knows exactly how Alex tends to squint from orgasm like a panther lying on the sun now? Or how her smirk falls each time lips brush against her clavicle? What if Nichols learned the location of her secret spot? The one behind the left knee that makes her aroused in no time? What if she already received that lazy smile of hers after they both came that usually means Alex is extremely pleased with herself?

I don't wanna go nuts imagining all possible scenarios. Yet, I'm doing it coiling my fists too tight so I hurt my palms walking into the laundry room.

Do I feel jealous? That's laughable, we haven't see each other for 8 long years. Do I feel offended that there are people in this establishment that know exactly how the formal love of my life tastes? Of course, not. I'm smarter than that. Besides, she never was the REAL love of my life. Larry is. I didn't have anything to compare with back that time but that's Ok, you are allowed to make mistakes in your twenties. Makes you appreciate real deal when you finally come around one.

Me and Larry. Larry and me. We are like husband-and-wife-soon-to-be. I feel excited and SO FUCKING GRATEFUL it is not Alex. Thankfully, I learn on my mistakes. Because I am an adult. And not only when it comes to forming word "adultery". Jesus, where did it even come from?

The laundry room is empty, no one in sight and no machines working. I guess, I can drop off my things without making a small talk with anyone for once.

But the moment I put my name tag on the plastic bag with my clothes, I could see someone else entering with my side vision.

"Pipes, alone this time? No prison wife to pluck your flower or throw banana from her monkey cage? It's a shame, really. I've heard she was very excited to see you the other day."

"Please shut up!" I raise my palms in frustration interacting with a living image of someone occupying my head 24/7. "Really, Alex, what you want from me? And she is not my wife. I'm engaged! To a MAN!"

"Maybe you should make it a conversational point before she blows her pipes next time. I mean, it was loud even for your sex appeal, kid."

"Alex, I mean it!" I'm yelling now, secretly wishing the ceiling above her head collapses and buries her underneath it. "Do what you came here for or move along!"

"That's fine, Dulsinea, I'm here for my laundry shift, so longer you stand here longer you are forced to interact with me." Alex stretches her arm out awaiting for me to pass her my cloth bag.

I hesitate, drilling holes in her skull with my eyes. How convenient. The moment I walk in she remembers about her emergency shift, all of the sudden.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna burn it in epiphany. Unless, of course, you're just all talk and secretly enjoying me begging for your dirty panties." A smug smirk appears on her lips making me nauseous.

"Fuck you." I spit out dropping my bag on the floor and leaving never looking back.

* * *

I am lying on my bunk covered in Crazy Eyes' pee of despise, reeking of urine and my own misery.

I wanna cry but too tired to even do that. I feel dirty and disgusting. I want a person to complain to but instead have Miss Claudette on my back glaring daggers from her bed.

This smell is too overpowering; I'm searching for the other scent in the corridors of my memory to cling onto to get through the rest of the night.

What I love the most? Grandma's X-mas pies, Polly's milk cinnamon soap and lotion, Larry's Chanel Blue cologne he stopped using due to the allergy situation. I'm inappropriately snickering, hiding face with my palm from my embarrassment for him. He always has tendency to ruin the best things I love about him.

No, that's all not it. I'm almost desperate looking for something that makes me really happy but failing to find it even hour in. I toss and turn trying to grip onto something I know out there but I can not quiet touch. At the end I just give up moving my body on the side and shutting my eyes trying to breath not too deep.

The sunset pastels cool down the heat still lingering on the Cabo streets after having 50C out there the whole day long. Alex just arrived on her motorcycle after talking business to Farid. She slowly takes off her helmet and her shape almost glows as much as her smile in the shades of pink, blue, orange, red and yellow.

I'm coming outside and rest my head on her shoulder feeling content from just being next to her. She laughs and wraps her hands around me letting me fully inhale the scent of her leather jacket mixed with hint of cigarette smoke she got on herself from being around the ring members. That's it. Smoke and leather. It smells like home.


End file.
